Blizzard
by Occurrence
Summary: A blizzard finds the dectectives bored and stuck in the squad room until an old friend stops by with a diversion. Alex/Olivia implied, rating for language and reference of assault
1. Chapter 2

For all the grumbling New Yorkers, myself included, do about the snow, I secretly love when a blizzard blankets the city. Not the snow itself, not the car accidents and stranded travelers and mass transit that alternates between non – functional and overcrowded, but the peace it brings. Most people don't see it in the hustle of people putting in supplies like six inches of snow will be the end of civilization, but for me, it means the perps stay in and behave themselves. At least to the extent that they stop roaming the parks and streets for victims. Must be too difficult to get it up when the cold makes their balls crawl back into their bodies. Crude I know, but in this job I welcome any breaks, and so when it begins to snow I sigh in relief.

Of course, the lack of calls to go out on means we're all stuck here catching up on paperwork. Seems like we never get caught up; there is just too much to do. Too many victims who need me, need us, to hold their hand, talk them through the process of putting the man who grabbed them away, or convincing the little ones that what their father did is not their fault. I can't just walk away from them, even as Casey rides my ass about why the paperwork is important. She needs that to get the convictions, and she talks about justice being the complete process. Sometimes I just want to shake her until she understands that convictions don't mean justice; that what we do is just a stop gate most of the time.

I turn away from the snow when my fingers start to ache from the cold of the windowpane. Tucking my hands inside the sleeves of my sweater I watch my co-workers, my guys, for a moment. For now all three are buried in their work, hunched over those damn forms and cooling coffee, but I can feel that it won't take much to derail them. They're trying, but they don't want to be at the station house anymore than I do, and any little distraction will set them off. A detail from a file might set off a debate, or open us up to the kind of confessional discussion we usually can't start without a few rounds. Or a crumpled form missing the rim of the waste basket could send us in a whole new direction, until the Cap gets sick of the silliness and sends us out into the snow just to be rid of us. With the snow casting the city into an early twilight, it could go either way.

I shiver as the wind whistles through a crack in the frame, running up my spine, and head back to my desk for my coffee mug. I'm not quite ready to get back to work, and fiddle around the pot making the perfect cup of coffee, or as close as I can get with the sludge left in the bottom. Starting a fresh pot, I even go so far as wiping down the counters with a sponge that has just about disintegrated into crumbs when a flash of gold catches my attention. Turning towards the door, I see gold dissolve into blond hair and such pale skin and those damned glasses. She stands in the doorway, watching the guys at work, and smirks fondly at their bowed heads. I take the time to observe her for a moment; she is wearing a turtle necked sweater, the palest blue can be before being labeled a shade of white. It hangs past the edge of her jeans, rather shapelessly, but leaves her legs free. There is something about her legs in a pair of form fitting jeans, not tight or indecent in any way, that makes my breath catch. I love those legs in sort skirts and hose, or naked altogether, but there is something about jeans. I note the sensible, but still stylish and very expensive, boots that complete the outfit. It would explain how she managed to sneak in without being noticed. When she was ours, we always had a heads up as her heels clicked distinctively on the short trip from the elevator.

She hasn't been ours, or mine, for a long time now, but I see her looking around, past the guys, and I hope she's looking for me. When she finds me lurking by the coffee pot, she smiles, and for a moment I see something in her eyes that I've missed often over the last few years. Before I can name it, or begin to wonder what it means, the look is gone, replaced by something like fear, or panic. My heart aches a little as she breaks eye contact and turns back to our guys.

"Munch, you better keep your eye on that report if you ever want Don to let you out of here." He startles at the sound of her voice, turning guiltily from the snow falling outside the window. His embarrassment at being called out is soon replaced with his characteristic smirk as he turns to face our former ADA.

"Cabot, unless Novak sent you around as her errand boy, I don't see how it is any of you business when I get this done. Unless you had plans for me after work. In which case I'll be ready in ten minutes." Seeing Munch leer and raise his eyebrows is more comical than anything, and watching Alex laugh I see some of the tension slip from her shoulders. It is good to see her smile; the last few times I've seen her she seemed weighed down like Atlas. I'm struck as always by the way her beauty softens into something tolerable when she relaxes. In court, in her office, the hard edge of her beauty was so daunting, making her unapproachable. Walking towards the guys gathered around her, I have to consciously remind myself that she is off limits to me all the time now.

I stand back from the group a little, letting the guys fawn over her, and not pushing to include myself in her fan club. Even as she avoids looking at me, I know she is aware of exactly where I am in the room. When we were together she could turn a full 180 and meet my eyes without hesitation. She knew where I would be, and I knew what each look meant; the 'can you believe this jackass,' the 'I can't wait to get you out of here,' and the 'save me.' I feel cold when I think of the last time I saw the 'save me,' remembering how completely I failed her that night.

Shaking myself, I try to follow the conversation as Alex and the guys get caught up on the news. I notice that the guys are too polite to ask about the fiancé; rumor has it they broke off the engagement and looking at her left hand clasping her briefcase I see no engagement ring. I assume with his family money she would be wearing a diamond large enough to blind us, if not some obnoxious heirloom. All I could ever give her was a simple necklace, and though she wore it often enough, I wished she had worn it always, wished she'd seen it as the ring I could never afford to give her. Not that she would have accepted a ring from me; I know how that argument would have gone, the need to be careful and protect both our careers.

The guys step back and allow her to set down her things. She moves to my desk setting the case down next to my chair and dropping her jacket from her arm to the top of my desk. It seems so natural for her things to be in my area of the squad room, and the ease with which we move in and out of each other's space as I gather up my abandoned paperwork is as familiar as it is jarring. How long has it been since we danced around each other like this?

"So, what brings you by, counselor? Other than wanting to be harassed by Munch here." Elliot settles into his own chair as Alex half sits on the edge of my desk, the others taking their usual spots around the room in a call back to all the meetings we five had together. I sit in my own chair, drawing it close enough to touch her even though I know I won't.

"The court schedule is a mess because of the storm, and half of my staff can't figure out how to get into the office," she rolls her eyes as we chuckle at her crew. "No, really, they're not incompetent, just very young."

"Youth is wasted on … " Munch begins as Alex glares at him, though I can see her fighting not to smile as I study her profile above me. "Seriously, you were almost that young when you got assigned to SVU. And see how well that turned out."

She looks shocked for a moment, and then starts to laugh, but without real humor, as John gestures between them, meaning what, I can't figure. She lets him off the hook with a wave of her hand, forgiving him for inadvertently bringing up her death and rebirth. Even as she sits here on my desk, I can't stop from worrying about her disappearing again. The Feds wouldn't have let her come back if it wasn't safe now, but as much as I know that with my mind, the rest of me finds it hard to believe.

"I just meant that they are acting like kids hoping for a school closing. They were keeping it together because I was there, but they were vibrating in place waiting to be set free. I don't really need to see my ADA's involved in a snowball fight or anything like that, so I left." We all smile remembering days like that; one in particular comes to my mind of the five of us ducking out early during another storm to grab a couple beers before braving the subways. Elliot turns into a goofy kid in the snow sometimes, and he caught Alex in the face with a handful of wet snow as we were leaving the bar. I spent several minutes chasing him around the sidewalk with a handful before catching his collar and dumping it down his back. Half buzzed, she called me her prince and linked her arm in mine, leading me down into the subway station, the sound of Elliot sputtering and cursing fading behind us. I look at him across the desk and wonder if the distant look and half smile means he is thinking of the same night.

The Cap interrupts by sticking his head out the office door, probably to tell us to get back to it so we can get out here at a reasonable hour, but stops when he sees Alex. His whole face relaxes when he sees her and he gives her a genuine smile as he steps out to greet her. Usually I just see the quick smile he gives when he knows it is the appropriate thing to do. The one that looks pained as if his face has lost the muscle memory of how it is done and has to learn again each time. The one that never reaches his eyes.

Seeing them greet each other by name and hug, I see why so many of the gossips thought the two of them were an item before. I knew it was not true, but there is some fondness between them that they show few other people.

"So is this a social visit, Alex? Or do you need us for something?" I'm always amazed the Cap is as good at the politics of his position as he is, given the bluntness he generally shows. Alex settles back against my desk, half turning as she reaches for her case. I already have it in hand, meeting her past the halfway point, and as she turns back to Cragen, I realize that the action was seamless. She didn't even have to ask; I knew what she wanted, and she trusted that I would know.

"I am glad for an excuse to visit, but, yes, I need something. The problem is, I'm not sure what exactly I need," she draws a handful of files from her bag and sets it down on the edge of my desk between us. I place it back on the floor by my chair as she gathers the files to her chest in a crossed arm stance, not wanting any barrier between us. "In the past three months, ten open cases have passed my desk involving women being accosted in public areas. They are not assaulted, but verbally harassed by a man they can't quite make out. Each woman swore he seemed ready to assault her before he gets spooked, by various things and in one case by nothing at all, and flees. SVU hasn't been called in because there is no actual assault, and the language he uses varies from one case to another, so there aren't any common key words to use to search similar cases. Each case originated in a separate precinct, so no table talk to connect them."

"Alex, no offense, but that's a pretty shaky connection. And frankly, it is really not our call, so why did you bring them here?" I know Elliot is right, that this really isn't our problem, but I want to hit him for even remotely implying that Alex isn't welcome here.

"You're right; it is pretty weak, and if I was the ADA on this I would probably tell you to shelve it until a better connection became available. But I have a feeling these are connected and when I said I've seen ten of these in three months that is not exactly accurate. I saw the first case three months ago, and in the course of eight weeks, I saw the number crossing my desk go from one a week to three a week. In the past two weeks, I haven't seen any similar cases," she stops when Fin leans forward in his chair.

"You think he's escalating, probably escalated beyond your department's jurisdiction," he stops as she nods. "And what? You want us to review these cases, see if they match anything we've caught recently?"

"More or less, yes," she tucks her hair behind her ear and holds the files to her possessively, protecting them. "I sense there is a pattern here, but you guys are the best at this, so."

"Flattery will get you far with us, Cabot," Munch picks off as Alex's voice trails off uncertainly. "But Elliot's right, as much as I hate to admit it; this isn't our jurisdiction. Unless Dad says to go after it."

All five of us turn to face the Captain as he glances at everything but us; the piles on our desks, the snow falling outside the windows, the files in her arms, and then to the clock that is showing it is past noon already. He stares at the clock for a long time, and I can see the mental calculations, the time lost if she is wrong, what it will mean for the victims if she is right, and how pissed our current ADA will be when she finds out.

"Alex, it doesn't even sound like you have a suspect on this. How did these cases end up in the DA's office, much less on your desk?" The Cap looks at her with concern, the same look he gives the victims we meet, but she waves it away.

"It is not personal, Don. Well, it is for one of my ADA's; his sister was the second victim. Or rather, she was the second woman to report it." We all nod in understanding; so few women report assaults, the figures on verbal harassment and attempted assault are probably much worse. "He brought the case to me when the officers signed off on it and asked me to find someway to get this guy. I had my assistant flag similar cases, but they weren't enough descriptions to move forward before the reports stopped."

Alex looks around the room, searching for an ally in this. Elliot and Fin won't meet her eyes, and Munch looks at her with that dispassionate gaze that serves all purposes for him. She turns to look at me, and I struggle to meet her intensity without flinching. She holds my eyes longer than decorum dictates, and I start to forget why she is here and that there are others in the room, as I get lost in the shifting colors of blue.

"Look, Alex," Cragen starts, drawing our attention back to him. He looks ready to decline her request, but whatever he sees in her eyes when she turns back to him causes him to pause. With one more look at the clock, he sighs and begins again. "You can have their assistance until the end of business provided nothing comes up, and then you'll hand it back to whoever originated the cases if nothing comes of it. I won't make it mandatory for my detectives, but I'm guessing you will have plenty of volunteers." Even before he is done speaking, all four of us are closing up the files in front of us, ready to follow Alex's hunch, causing the Cap to sigh heavily.

"I have to go to a meeting, though I suspect it will be poorly attended due to weather. If you need me, call me; otherwise I will see you all in the morning. Make it home safely, all of you." The Cap leans towards Alex to give her a hug good-bye, and I doubt anyone else can hear him as he whispers in the ear nearer to me. "Alex, you are welcome here anytime. Open investigation or not."

I watch her face as he pulls away, the way it shifts between sorrow, loss, and acceptance in the span of a few seconds. She nods her thanks as he shifts to face us all with his sternest 'Dad' look, and I feel myself sit up in my chair without thinking, as he looks us over. Even as I feel silly for my involuntarily response to his gaze, I am grateful for the gruff affection he shows for his 'kids.' He waves to us over his shoulder as he leaves the squad room, and I see my guys drawing around her again. I look at her openly, since everyone else is as well. I tell myself there isn't anything inappropriate about it, but when she glances back at me after taking in the volunteers in front of her, I can't read the expression in her gaze. Or rather, I'm too afraid to hope; too sure I can't be seeing that look again.

"So, counselor, let's see those files."


	2. 2

After reviewing the files for a half hour, I think the four of us are convinced as well, that one, all the reports are about the same guy, and two, that he has probably escalated beyond harassment into actual assault. It makes sense given the sexual nature of the incidents, as well as the frequency and then discontinuation. The other theories floated include that he got collared for something else and has been indisposed for the last two weeks, or that he was just in town temporarily, in which case, he is now someone else's problem. If either is true, there is really nothing else we can do, so we pursue the first option, the one Alex suggested.

I want to believe that we follow that course because it is our job, because it makes the most sense, but as I look at her I realize we would have followed her on any half-cocked theory she brought. Elliot and Fin would have followed for the distraction, to get them away from paperwork. Munch, well, I'm pretty sure he always had a thing for her, though he is a gentleman enough to hold his tongue. It is not a word I generally associate with John, with his numerous ex wives and lousy track record, but with her, he was different. I think he understood what was between us before I did. He caught me watching her a few times and when I met his eyes, he would just nod slightly, as if in blessing.

Me, I'd follow her anywhere. If she thinks this case has merit, I believe her. I smirk at the thought as I look over the case files in front of me on the table. I'm not sure when I started believing in her without question. God, and everyone else within hearing range, knows the two of us used to argue over cases, both of us too damn stubborn to give when we got stuck on something.

"What are you smirking about?" I didn't even hear her come in, but she is hovering in the door of the observation room we've taken over to work on the case. I turn to look at her as she leans against a battered file cabinet.

"Nothing," I try lying, but she raises her eyebrows at me, and I shrug. "I was just thinking you walk in and we all jump. Used to be, we'd make you work a little harder to get your way. I'm wondering when we became such pushovers." I try to let her know I'm teasing, sort of, but my voice goes soft at the end, and it just seems to come out wrong. She looks at me so intensely, and I try to find something to say, but she spares me the trouble.

"Most everyone had been like that since I came back," she explains as she crosses to sit across the table from me, idly straightening papers and avoiding looking at me. "At first it was all right; everyone was trying to make it easy for me and it was a nice while I was trying to get my head back on straight. But now, I just wish it was like it was before, you know?"

She's still not looking at me, which is good, because my heart is going a little too fast for a casual conversation and I can't seem to school my features into something appropriate. I can't help hoping she means more than she said, and I don't want her to know how much I still feel. I have to assume her wistful tone is just about work, about the professional, because I can't get my heart broken again.

It was never easy between us. As much as we loved each other, we kept making such a mess of it. We danced around each other for months, and then when we finally did begin, it seemed like every step forward ended with two steps back. Cases kept coming between us, even when we agreed to leave work at work. Her family, my lack of family and all that it meant for me, her political ambition, the danger associated with my job. I lost count of how many times we traded keys to our apartments, and how many times we threw them back at each other after another horrible fight.

When she died, I had the keys to her apartment in my pocket, where they had been for several months. I was starting to believe we were going to make it, that this time our fears weren't going to drive us apart again. When she died, I went to her apartment and let myself in and sat on the couch wrapped in a throw blanket that still smelled of both of our perfumes from the last movie night we had together before Sandoval was killed. When she died, I mourned for her in a way I'd never felt before, not even after my mother's death. I sat there with my service revolver in hand most of the night wondering if maybe I should join her.

It seems so odd to think about her death now, when she is obviously very much alive, sitting across the table from me. But in some ways, the Alex I knew never came back. I saw glimpses of it when she came back to testify in the Conner's case, but I choose to ignore them. I convinced myself it was just the circumstances; that when she came back for good, she would be herself again, like nothing had changed.

When she came back, I didn't even know she was in town until I heard it through the grapevine. I tracked the progress the Feds were making against Velez for the first year, but it just became too much. They weren't moving fast enough for me, and information I got from friends inside was disheartening rather than hopeful. So I stopped asking, stopped listening for clues about when she might be able to return and just tucked the hope away in a safe place until she returned.

I don't know how long we have been sitting here, but my head isn't on the case, and given that her eyes aren't tracking on the page she's holding in front of her face, I'm guessing her head is elsewhere, as well. I have to make a conscious effort to stop staring at her, and I take a look out the open doorway, seeing and hearing no one. They better not be spying on us from the Cap's office, and I turn to glare at the one-way glass behind me, just in case.

"They're not here," she answers my unspoken query. I never knew how she could read me so easily, and I'm a little shocked to discover she still has that talent. "Fin and Munch are tracking down some files; apparently John knows a women in records who is amazing at key-word searches or something." She looks up and rolls her eyes; John's reputation with women is a great source of amusement in the squad room. "And I sent Elliot to pick up lunch from the Chinese place we usually use. I ordered you that spicy tofu thing. Is that all right?"

There is a hint of worry in her voice as she asks, and she looks at me as if I'm a puzzle she can't quite figure out. I just nod to reassure her, I'd like to tell her of course, it is still my favorite; that I'm still the same person she knew. But thinking over the last few years I know that is both true and not true. So much time had passed, and of course the time apart has changed me. I can only hope that at the core, I am still the same person; the same person she loved, once. I've spent so much time thinking about how much she has changed, I've failed to acknowledge that the time apart changed me too.

"So, can I ask about Robert?" I take one more look out the door to check that no one is going to sneak up and hear. When I face her she is smirking at me.

"I don't know, can you, Detective?" she responds lightly, and I shake my head.

"May I ask? I'm not sure where the lines are drawn anymore, and I don't want to offend or bring up something painful or…" I trail off; afraid I'll reveal too much I start to squirm as she watches me steadily for a minute, before shrugging it off as if the whole thing was nothing.

"Robert was easy," she waves off the previous statement, perhaps realizing how cold it sounds. "I mean, he made things easy for me. Like so many others did when I got back, he was willing to take what I could give him, and never pressed for more. Even the engagement was the easiest option; it was good for both of our public persona, good for my career. In a lot of ways, it would have been so simple to stay with him, to just let the marriage happen." I watch as she gathers her thoughts before continuing, staring off over my shoulder.

"I had an affair with a man in my office right after I got engaged," she laughs, but without any real humor. "I think that was the point where I woke up and realized I didn't want easy, didn't just want what was convenient. I wanted, I want, what feels right, even if it is hard, even if it doesn't work out. I don't want to regret not trying."

She turns her head to look at me, piercing me through with the intensity of her gaze, and I meet her gaze unflinching, trying to let her know that I understand, even if I don't entirely. My thoughts are racing and nothing is significant enough to tell her at this moment. I open my mouth to try anyway, knowing I will fumble it, hoping that the sentiment will be enough, when Elliot, damn his timing, pokes his head into the room.

"Hey, I've got food, and the Wonder Twins think they found something promising."


	3. Chapter 3

I guess I should give Munch more credit; his friend in records turned up five other cases that Alex's assistant hadn't caught and linked it to a suspect charged with B&E twelve days ago. He got caught breaking in to a woman's apartment late at night, carrying gloves, duct tape, condoms, and a bag of cloth pins. I have no idea how the unis missed the sexual implications of those items. The potential victim had some sort of martial arts background, and had the perp incapacitated before he got a chance to attack her. Apparently she added a couple kicks to the groin once he was down as well.

The rest of the afternoon is spent reviewing all the files again and making some calls to the other precincts involved to help the DA on the B&E file more charges, even though we know it will probably get kicked back to our own ADA. When Casey shows up around four, she is a little pissed to find we aren't actually working on the paperwork she had wanted yesterday. And when she sees Alex hanging around, the temperature drops about ten degrees. I know we gave Casey a hard time for not being her; I was so lost in my own grief at the time I don't remember much, just resenting her for being here when Alex couldn't. But after so many years, it seems she should know we respect her and don't see her as Alex's replacement. It is really not my job to stroke her ego every time her predecessor's name comes up in conversation, though I find myself doing it anyway. I mean really, she has now been with our team longer than Alex was with us.

I hadn't really thought about it until now, but Alex has really been gone that long. I've been carrying a torch for a woman who has been dead, resurrected and lived I don't know how many lives since she entered Witness Protection. All I can think about is wanting to finish the conversation that got interrupted earlier because every minute that passes makes me less sure of what I saw.

I know my head hasn't really been in the work since lunch time, so when the guys say we're as done as we can be, I figure they're probably right. It is a little before quitting time, but with Dad out of the office and no calls in hours, we figure we can cut out early tonight. Munch suggests beers, and Fin agrees, wheedling Elliot into one round even as he starts up about needing to get home. I volunteer to straighten up the files we've been working on, since I've felt pretty useless all afternoon, and Alex says she'll help. After swearing up and down that we will be at the bar within the hour, the guys take off.

After checking our desks for loose paperwork, I carry a handful of files into the observation room where Alex had gone to box up the bulk of the material for the case. There wasn't much we could do with it until the storm cleared out, but it would at least be ready for the courier when the roads were clear again.

"I think that is the last of it; if it doesn't get kicked back to us, the ADA who caught the B&E is going to owe us a nice gift basket," I joke as I enter the room and dump the papers in the half full file box. Looking up, I realize she isn't paying attention, standing close to the window, staring out at the snow that is still falling in spurts. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her sleeves pulled down over her hands, and the exposed fingertips of one hand are working at the neck of her sweater. She looks so vulnerable; the shadows playing across her profile making her face appear more drawn than before, almost sorrowful.

"Alex?" I move closer, well into her personal space, and lay a hand on her shoulder. She jumps at the contact, and I instinctively move back several feet, trying to figure out what I did wrong. She gives me a half smile and waves off my concerned look, and I can see the walls going back up, the vulnerable woman hidden behind the bureau chief façade.

"Sorry, just got lost in my own head for a moment. Remembering other snow storms." I smile and lean against the windowsill despite the cold, looking down at people scurrying along the street.

"When you came in earlier, I remembered one snow storm that caught the five of us here at the station house, and we went out to the bar before heading home. It must have been shortly after you started because it was before we were …" I trail off, not willing to bring up what was between us. "It was that night we all got a little drunk and Elliot shoved snow in your face as we were coming out of the bar." Her brow furrows in concentration, before relaxing and I see a smile she tries to hide.

"I remember you defended my honor, and spent several minutes chasing him around before you got a handful of snow down the back of his jacket," she chuckles slightly, and turns to face me fully, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I called you my knight in shining armor for getting him back."

"Your prince," I murmur softly, leaning in as she lays her other hand on my upper arm, looking at me quizzically. "Not your knight, you called me your prince and we made a quick exit into the subway before he could catch us."

"It was very chivalrous, what you did. We weren't even dating yet and you were coming to my rescue," her voice is husky as she plays with the ends of my hair, and I swallow back the lump that forms in my throat as a remember the times I hurt her, that we hurt each other, and that last night when I couldn't save her. I try to keep my face neutral, but something must have shown, or she is actually inside my head, because she seems to be reading my thoughts. "Liv, you couldn't have saved me that night. No one could have stopped that bullet; even if they had, there would have been another one, and another, until they finished the job." I'm trying to blink back tears, and when she wraps her arms around me, I start crying silently against her sweater. Breathing in the smell of her is so familiar, and despite the sorrow and the loss we have both felt, being in her arms again is amazing. I feel safe.

"You were my knight, and my prince, and my love." I feel her breath against my hair, and I try not to think about her talking about us in the past tense. "After the Connor's trial, I had to move a lot. I never got to go back to Wisconsin, to say good-bye to the man who loved 'Emily.' I couldn't take hurting any more good people, either because I knew I would have to disappear, or because they would never compare to what you and I had. So I dated some not-so-good people. All the people I would never have dated in New York because my family and colleagues wouldn't have approved. A radical environmentalist, a biker, borderline insane, borderline criminal. And when I would inevitably get moved to a new identity, I didn't feel as bad about leaving them, because I figured they were using me the same way I was using them. For company; to chase off the chill or make the shadows less frightening; to not be alone all the time."

She breaks off and withdraws a couple of feet, and for a moment I can still feel the ghost of her arms around me, the sense of her along my skin. She wraps the arms around herself defensively and turns her back to me, head bent, in a pose I recognize as her gathering her thoughts before starting a tough discussion or summation. I watch the snow mindlessly, knowing I can't rush her. I get lost in looking for patterns in the snow that aren't really there, and startle when she begins speaking again.

"There was a man in an office I worked in briefly, and he was crazy about me. But I thought he was a good man, and I didn't want to hurt him so I kept him at arm's length. We had this hundred-year snowstorm while I was there and everyone was snowed in for days. I had a house outside the city limits, and an old hatchback that couldn't handle more than a couple inches of snow, so I was stuck until the county cleared the roads. He called and offered to bring me supplies since he had a heavy pick up with chains, and I accepted because there was no one else offering.

"When he showed up with food and fuel for the fireplace, I was just grateful for the company, and invited him to stay for dinner. A snowstorm out there is nothing like a storm here, where everyone lives in apartments. Even when you can't go out, you are not alone. Even if I had known my neighbors, we were basically cut off from each other until the roads were plowed."

I can feel a chill down my back that had nothing to do with the cold seeping through the windowpane. I want to stop her, to tell her it is all right, that she is safe with me now; I want to go hunt down this man who put that fear in her voice. I don't want to hear this, but I understand that she needs to tell me.

"After dinner, I thanked him and tried to send him home. It wasn't just that I didn't want to hurt him, I wasn't attracted to him. I tried to explain, to send him away without damaging his ego, but he wouldn't listen." Her voice trails off, and as much as I want to hold her, her posture tells me I'm not welcome yet. I wait for her to let me in or continue, and watch a tear drop run down the side of her face, the only outward sign of what it costs her to tell me this, as she turns to face the snow. When she continues, her voice is flat, defeated; and that scares me more than anything else.

"Afterwards, he left, and I sat in front of the window watching the snow fall, too isolated by the location and the situation to do anything about what happened. I couldn't go to the police; I'd been warned many times that staying off the grid as much as possible was my best bet of surviving. We assumed they had someone inside law enforcement, someone who could watch for my fingerprints or DNA to turn up. Before this, it had meant that I couldn't get any sort of job that required a criminal check; now it meant that I couldn't get a…they couldn't do a rape kit." Her voice chokes on the last few words, and I can't not hold her then, wrapping my arms around her from the side as she leans her forehead against the cold glass, more tears running down her face.

"The next day I called my handler, told him I had seen someone I recognized in town and that I didn't feel safe. I'm pretty sure he knew I was lying; it was the only time I requested to be moved. Most of the times I fought to stay where I was, even if it had only been home for a couple of weeks. They had me out of the area before the snowplows even got to my neighborhood. I never told him, I never told anyone, what happened."

I've given up on not crying, the tears running down my face are being absorbed by the shoulder of her sweater. I can see from the reflection in the window that she is crying as well and I can feel her breath catching as she struggles not to sob. She wraps her hands around my arm, clinging to me almost painfully, and I draw both arms tighter, striving to completely surround her, to make a shield of my body.

I could tell her all the things I tell the victims I deal with every day, but she knows my spiels; she knows my platitudes. I know there will be days in the future where I will remind her it is not her fault, that she is not responsible for his actions. But right now, I give her what I can, what I think she needs. And as I lay a soft kiss on her temple, she turns into my arms, burying her head in the crook of my neck. All I can give her is my strength, and as I wrap my arms around her too thin form and murmur soft words of comfort into her hair, I pray it is enough.


End file.
